


Right Where I Need to Be

by chemm80



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 21:25:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chemm80/pseuds/chemm80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>An AU where Jared and Jensen are in a country band together.  They kind of like each other. A lot. Written for <a href="http://salt-burn-porn.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://salt-burn-porn.livejournal.com/"></a><b>salt_burn_porn</b> and unbeta'd due to the nature of the challenge.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Right Where I Need to Be

**Author's Note:**

> An AU where Jared and Jensen are in a country band together. They kind of like each other. A lot. Written for [](http://salt-burn-porn.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://salt-burn-porn.livejournal.com/)**salt_burn_porn** and unbeta'd due to the nature of the challenge.

_“Livin’ on Tulsa Time!”_

Jensen glances over his left shoulder at Ryan, the drummer, as they swing into the last chorus, Jared thumping steady on bass. Jensen grins fiercely and attacks his fret board like it’s trying to escape. God, he loves it when they’re hitting on all eight cylinders like this, the bass locked in with the drums and Ryan pounding the kit, tossing his head and slinging sweat from his hair like he’s playing Metallica instead of classic country. Jensen sings the last line and tags the song with the signature ending riff, finishing with a twangy slide that would make Don Williams roll over in his grave—if he were dead for real and not just career-wise— and banging out the last chord. Jared and Ryan end with him, more or less, which is the most he expected. He knows too well they could do a lot worse.

“Thank you, Lubbock! We’re gonna take a little pause for the cause…we are Train Wreck, and we’ll be back in a few minutes with some more great country and Southern rock here at the 101 Bar and Grill. So y’all stick around, and don’t forget to tip your bartenders and waitresses!”

Ryan climbs out from behind his kit, offers Jensen a smile and a fist bump and then heads out the front door of the bar—to smoke (certainly)—and call his girlfriend, who lives two towns over (probably). Jensen doesn’t have to worry about him being back on time, like he did with the drummer in his last band, who was prone to wandering off to parts unknown between sets. That’s good because they only have twenty minutes before they’re back on again and he needs to piss, at least, preferably grab a fresh beer as well.

Or maybe two, he thinks, reaching into his gig bag and grabbing the towel he always keeps there. He pulls his hat off and swabs at the sweat pouring down his face. And if _he’s_ sweating…

He looks over at Jared’s who’s fiddling around with his amp (which is known to be temperamental) and sees he was right: Jared’s dark blue western shirt is pretty wet even though it’s just the end of their first set of four. There’s a dark streak down the middle of his back where the sweat has soaked through and another one over his left shoulder where his leather guitar strap sits, not to mention the way the moisture from his face and neck has soaked the edges of his hair.

Jared’s only been with them for a few weeks, but he’s a better-than-decent bassist and a lot of fun to be around and Jensen…likes him.

Musicianship aside, Jensen would want Jared in the band for his stage presence alone. He’s so much better at engaging the crowd than Jensen is. The way he flirts and winks, plays jokes off Jensen’s straight man act—it’s really effective. Also hot, watching Jared dimple at the girls as they dance by the stage, and their flustered responses. Besides, having Jared handle that part of the performance takes a lot of pressure off of Jensen, lets him just sing and play his guitar, which is all he really wants anyway.

Well, maybe he wants a little more than that. He watches Jared bend over to reach something on the back of the amp, and he knows he shouldn’t be staring, but it seems like a shame to pass up a perfectly good opportunity for a nice long look at one of the finest asses he’s ever seen.

After a moment or two of this Jared pauses and peers over his left shoulder, like he knows he’s being watched. Jensen just smirks at him and shrugs, and Jared grins back. Jensen can’t hear what Jared says next over the canned music they use to fill the silence during the band’s breaks, but he can read Jared’s lips well enough. _Pervert_.

Jensen just grins wider and inclines his head toward the bathroom. Jared catches the gesture and indicates his understanding with a nod of his own, points back at the amp to show he still wants to work on it for a bit.

The bathroom is deserted—it’s Wednesday, so the crowd is a lot smaller than it would be on a weekend—but that doesn’t mean Jensen is thrilled to have his phone ring while he’s standing in front of a urinal with his dick in his hand. He’s not about to answer his phone while he’s taking a piss—not until he’s washed his hands, either. He does have some standards and this bathroom isn’t exactly pristine. By the time he’s managed to finish and tuck himself back in (a more time-consuming process than usual, for which he’s totally blaming Jared’s ass and its entirely predictable effect on Jensen’s dick), his phone has stopped ringing and the message alert tone has sounded.

_U just looking or u want some?_

And Jensen’s not completely surprised. Jared has dropped a few hints that make Jensen think there might be something there, not to mention the way Jared just casually touches him all the time, regularly invades Jensen’s personal space like he owns it. But this is West Texas and they’re in a country bar and around here you better be damned sure of yourself before you make any kind of move.

Besides, he wasn’t expecting anything quite this soon, or this blunt. He definitely “wants some,” but it’s not a good idea. Oh, not that Jensen buys into all the “rules” about not fucking your band members that a lot of people he knows in the music business are always spouting. You just naturally bond with people when you play music with them, if you like them at all, and if there’s any sexual attraction there, well. The intra-band affair is practically mandatory, and Jensen’s philosophy is that there’s no point in fighting it. In his experience, a band is either going to stay together or it isn’t—it comes down to artistic and/or personality conflicts, not who’s fucking who.

But he’s not fucking Jared yet, and he’s not going to start right now, not before they’re done playing for the night. Jensen is that much of a professional, at least.

_I want. But not here_ , he texts back.

_We’ll see._

Jensen laughs, a short incredulous bark. _Cocky little shit._ Then he notices the time. He’s barely got enough time to grab a fresh beer before he heads back to the stage.

“And now this pretty lady on my right is gonna sing…oh, I’m sorry Jensen,” Jared says, grinning and cocking his to the side so he can look at Jensen while still speaking into his mike. Then he turns back to face the crowd.

“See, I’m kinda new to Train Wreck, and the last band I played with had a girl for a lead vocalist. But you can see how I’d mistake,” Jared continues, holding out a hand to indicate Jensen. “He is real pretty, huh?”

Cue feminine squeals of agreement. Jensen takes it in stride, just shakes his head ruefully. He’s beyond being irritated at Jared calling him “pretty.” He’s heard all this before, although the little once-over Jared gives him when he does it is new, Jensen is pretty sure.

“Well, Jared, I’m not the one with the long, wavy hair, now am I?” Jensen drawls, laying on the Texas accent thicker than usual, and then coughing “Girl!” into his mic.

There’s a light round of laughter and a couple more whoops from the audience, that Jensen acknowledges with a nod.

“But enough o’ this nonsense…y’all came here to dance, right? Can I get a ‘hell, yeah!’?” Jensen waits for the shouts to die down as he starts strumming in three-four time, Jared and Ryan joining in. “We’re gonna sing about an actual pretty lady right now. Her name’s Amanda…all you girls that like to waltz and all you ol’ boys who like to polish your belt buckles…this one’s for you…”

The rest of the second set goes pretty well; Jensen’s played these songs dozens of times and he doesn’t have to really concentrate on most of them, thank God. He doesn’t think anyone else can tell that Jared’s deliberately teasing him, but Jensen sure as hell knows it.

Jared wears his bass low on his body, so that the pickups are centered right over his crotch, and he plays it like it’s a part of him. Jensen has definitely noticed this before. The way he bites his lip in concentration when he hits the more complex licks has also not escaped Jensen’s attention.

But tonight, well, Jensen doesn’t know what it is really…there’s just something extra there, the way his long fingers curve around the neck of his guitar, the way he plucks the big strings, solid and strong—there’s something so…authoritative…about him. But he’s having fun, too, obviously loving what he’s doing, body rocking and boot heel tapping with the beat, leaning into Jensen during his solos, whistling through his teeth and whooping when Jensen really gets into it, hands burning up the strings. Jensen can’t stop grinning, and when they take their next break, he’s half hard again from the adrenaline alone.

Adrenaline, that’s what it is. That’s Jensen’s story and he’s sticking to it.

Jensen slips outside for a minute at their next break for some fresh air, or what he can get of it, weaving around the smokers skulking at the edge of the parking lot until he finds a relatively clear spot and inhales deeply, trying to clear his head. He’s just about to go back inside when he gets a text.

_Pretty damn hot on that guitar Ackles. Can’t wait to see what else you can do with your hands_

“Oh, Christ,” Jensen groans. It’s gonna be a long night.

By the time they’re halfway through the third set, Jensen is ridiculously grateful for the solidity of his guitar blocking the crowd’s view of his raging hard on. It’s completely distracting, though, and Jensen is frazzled and screwing up song lyrics left and right. The most telling thing, though, is how clumsy he is with his playing, because that just doesn’t happen to him. He finally skips over two songs and calls an audible—the last song of the set played three songs too early—ignoring the way the bar manager’s head jerks around to look at him at the shortened set. Jensen cannot wait to be done with this show, which is ridiculous and kind of irritating, because he’s never ready to quit when their time is up, always feels like he can play all night, even after last call.

Jared is ruining his life.

He ignores Ryan’s puzzled look—and Jared’s too-smug one—at the change in routine and launches into “Sweet Home Alabama,” thanking God that the lyrics aren’t complicated and that he’s played and sung this song roughly a thousand times. He finishes the song and waves to the crowd, already backing up from the mic as Jared babbles something at the audience that he doesn’t bother to pay attention to.

Jensen slings his guitar strap over his head and sets it down in its stand, wonders how in the hell he’s going to make it through another set, much less tearing everything down and loaded, and getting Jared somewhere he can strip him out of his clothes and have his way with him. He’s never seen Jared naked, or even shirtless, but it’s obvious from the way his t-shirts cling to his massive shoulders and skim his narrow waist that the boy works out. A lot.

Jensen wipes sweat from the lower half of his face at the thought, then startles when he hears Jared’s voice, rough and low and right next to his ear.

“Bathroom,” he says, and the word is information, invitation and demand, all expressed in one hot exhalation across Jensen’s neck. Jensen shivers, but Jared’s halfway across the bar by the time Jensen turns around.

Jensen takes one look at the curve of Jared’s retreating ass and promptly invites professionalism to go fuck itself. He follows Jared down the narrow hall.

Jared is standing at a urinal when Jensen stalks in, doesn’t quite push the bathroom door open hard enough to slam back against the wall, but it’s a near thing. He doesn’t bother with pretense, just hard-eyes the only other person in the bathroom, a stocky guy in a black Stetson who shakes off, zips up and gives them both a mildly wary look before exiting the bathroom without washing his hands.

Jensen looks around for something to bar the door with, because this is happening now, he’s positive, and just because he no longer cares what anyone else thinks of it doesn’t mean he wants to be interrupted. There’s no lock, but there’s a wedge of wood that’s probably a doorstop on the floor. Jensen picks it up and shoves it between the door and the jamb, giving it a final tap with the heel of his hand, hard enough for the wood to crack slightly.

Jared’s drying his hands by the time Jensen finishes this operation. Jared tosses the wad of paper towels and they just look at each other for a few second. Then Jared smirks.

“What’s the matter? You shy?”

“Nope,” Jensen says simply. He moves.

The bathroom’s so small he doesn’t even have to take a step to reach out and bunch one hand in the front of Jared’s shirt. He uses the grip to shove Jared at the only free wall and body-checks him against it.

Jensen’s hardening cock makes contact with the cut of Jared’s hip and stays there, drawn like a magnet to the hard muscle there, rubbing against it as  
Jensen twists his hips, presses Jared harder against the wall. Jared grunts with the impact and then wraps his arms around Jensen, pulling him in and kissing him hard, groaning softly into Jensen’s mouth.

Jensen’s first contact with Jared’s huge, hard body feels more like recognition than exploration, he’s imagined this so many times. He runs his hands up Jared’s chest, feels the damp of his sweat soaking through his shirt, presses his face into Jared’s neck and inhales his scent, salty and clean-smelling despite all the exertion. Jared grabs a handful of Jensen’s ass and squeezes and God, his hands are big enough to just about hold Jensen’s entire asscheek in one of them. It’s so damned hot and Jensen moans, opens his mouth against Jared’s neck, scrapes his teeth over Jared’s collarbone. Jared hisses.

“Damn,” Jared says, breaking off into breathy kind of whimper as Jensen sinks his teeth into the muscle between Jared’s neck and shoulder. Jared’s attempt to unfasten Jensen’s jeans falters as Jensen sucks and licks over the bite marks. Jensen still hasn’t found the knack of shutting Jared’s smart mouth, though.

“Thought you’d at least make it to the end of the show before you caved, Ackles,” Jared says, managing to tease even though his voice is already kind of wrecked.

“Fuck you,” Jensen says roughly, rolling his hips against Jared’s, panting as Jared presses back, working them both into a rhythmic grind that makes Jensen’s knees weak. “I was trying to be a professional.”

“Fuck me later,” Jared says, finally defeating Jensen’s restrictive clothing and pulling Jensen’s cock out. “Right now…man, I’ve been wanting to suck your cock since the minute I met you…fuck.”

Jared leans forward off the wall slightly and bends his knees like he’s going to drop to the floor right here and now and do just that, but Jensen grabs his biceps, tugs upward to stop him.

“Don’t…I won’t last,” Jensen pants, leaning back into Jared to pin him against the wall. He fumbles with Jared’s stupidly huge belt buckle, shaped like the state of Texas, which even Jensen makes fun of him for.

“Oh yeah,” Jared breathes, starting to help Jensen undo his pants. The bulge of Jared’s cock through his underwear, the thought of how it would taste, how it would feel against his tongue, makes Jensen’s mouth water and he files those images away for when they have more time. Right now he needs to…

“Fuck,” Jensen chokes out when he feels the cool air against his over-sensitized dick. Jared reaches around Jensen and pulls Jensen against him with both hands on his ass, panting and groaning and rolling his hips. Their cocks are finally sliding together, catching and dragging, skin on beautifully smooth skin, and Jensen leans into the contact, pressing their dicks together, hot and hard between their bodies.

It feels good, frantic and sensual, both of them humping each other with wild abandon, Jared licking into his mouth like it’s all he’s ever wanted to do, but it isn’t quite enough to get Jensen there. He really has no desire to rush this, but they don’t have much time before someone is going to want in here—it’s a public restroom in a bar, after all.

He tries to get a hand between them but Jared beats him to it, pulls back just far enough to slide his hand in and wrap it around Jensen’s cock, squeezing and jerking him, so perfect; he’s tingling all over in seconds. Then Jared twists his wrist, rubs the tips of his first two fingers across the head, hard, and his guitar calluses rasp sharp and rough against the sensitive tip—there’s no way that was accidental, the fucker—and Jensen makes a choking sound and comes, hot and wet all over Jared’s hand, dripping down his wrist.

Jared strokes him through it, murmuring _oh yeah_ and _fuck, Jensen, hottest thing I’ve ever seen_. When Jensen’s hips have stopped moving, Jared shifts his grip to his own dick and starts jerking himself off, using Jensen’s come to slick the way, smearing it over the red swollen head of his cock, working himself hard and fast, other arm gripping Jensen’s shoulders tighter as he gets close. Jensen just leans his forehead against Jared’s shoulder and watches the way his cock slides easily through the circle of his fingers, feels Jared's chest heave with his panting breaths.

It doesn’t take long before Jared makes this amazing sound, a sort of breathy groan, and shoots, most of the load winding up on Jensen’s stomach since he hasn’t moved away at all. Jensen watches Jared squeeze and rub his cock, milking out the last few drops of come, which drip and pearl whitely onto his ridiculous belt buckle.

When Jared finishes, he sighs hugely and pulls Jensen close with the arm still around his shoulders. Jensen leans into it, just resting against Jared’s bulk for a minute and enjoying his loose-limbed satisfaction, the release of the tension that’s been building up all night—for weeks, really, if he’s honest. Jared cups the back of Jensen’s head and pulls him close, presses Jensen’s face against his chest, lays a soft kiss on Jensen’s forehead. It’s an oddly sweet gesture and it catches Jensen off guard, makes his chest ache even as he feels a little claustrophobic being wrapped up in Jared’s arms like this.

There’s a sudden thud against the bathroom door and they both jump, laughing a little as they both try to pull themselves together.

“Hey,” a not entirely sober-sounding voice says through the door. “Wha’s going on?”

“What are we doing?” Jensen asks, tucking his shirt in and buckling his belt. “We’re supposed to be back on stage in…” he checks his phone. “…five minutes ago…shit.” Jensen turns to the door.

Jared reaches out and pulls Jensen back, into his arms.

“I don’t know,” he says, grinning down at Jensen. “I think I’m right where I need to be.”


End file.
